


Learning the Notes

by casey270



Series: The Caged Bird's Song [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV), Tommy Ratliff (Musician)
Genre: Allusions to future non con/dub con/rape, Kidnapping, M/M, drugged Tommy Ratliff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-27 00:06:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13868871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casey270/pseuds/casey270
Summary: Hannibal helps Tommy realize that he wants to be good more than anything else. There may be more in this 'verse someday. it fascinates me.





	Learning the Notes

This time Tommy doesn’t lose consciousness. He thinks whatever the hell Dr. Lecter gave him is more subtle, more refined, like the Doctor himself. This time he just floats, completely aware but unable to react in any way. He can’t move, and he damn well can’t talk, but he sure as hell can feel and think and process.

He feels the power in Lecter’s arms when he picks Tommy up - so strong, yet so gentle, carrying him the way a groom would carry his cherished bride to their wedding bed. He sees the look on the Doctor’s face, questioning, searching, like he’s trying to find a spark of something he needs deep inside Tommy. Those things are familiar, and Tommy finds a kind of fucked up comfort in their familiarity. 

Most of all, though, he hears Lecter talking. That’s something new and different, and Tommy focuses on the voice he hadn’t heard before. There’s a never-ending stream of words telling Tommy that this is his choice, that he came back willingly, that he wanted this on some level. Tommy tries to think past the words to pinpoint the lie in them, but his brain is a little too fucked up to concentrate. He lets the words fall over him and around him, and he settles right down into them, using them as a cushion. He’ll sort them out later, he tells himself, when his brain is clearer.

Meanwhile, Lecter continues looking at him, into him, as he carries Tommy to a room that’s not a cell in a cellar, but it feels like a prison, all the same. Tommy can feel the tickle in the back of his brain, telling him that things aren’t right. But the harder he tries to focus on it, the more it diffuses, until there’s nothing left but the desire to float wherever the current of Dr. Lecter’s voice takes him. 

His eyes are too tired, too heavy to keep open. He lets them close, shutting out the light and the sight of things around him. He drifts along on Lecter’s words, words that keep repeating how good he was to come back, how good he can become with the Doctor’s help. He likes the feeling of being good. Or maybe he just like the feeling of Lecter telling him he’s good. It’s soothing and warm, and Tommy wants to cover himself with it, pull it right the fuck around himself and let it pull him in and out of sleep or consciousness or whatever the hell he’s got going on right now. 

The thought of giving everything up to just be good is so damn tempting. Imagining a life without worry or drama or tension or anxiety takes over whatever is left of his cloudy thoughts as he feels the Doctor putting him down on the bed. All he has to do is what he’s told. All he has to be is good. He can manage that; he can live with it. He can damn well be whatever Lecter wants him to be.

It’s getting harder and harder for Tommy to pull himself back to anything close to wakefulness as the mantra in his mind matches the words from Lecter’s mouth. He’s balanced on the edge of awareness, but tipping closer to the darkness of sleep all the time. He feels a gentle caress of a thumb against his wrist as his hands are secured to the posts of the bed, and it all feels good in some fucked up way. It feels like what should be.

He’s on his way down to the blackness of unconsciousness when he hears Lecter promise him, “And now we begin,” and Tommy can’t help the spark of anticipation he feels.


End file.
